


Relatively Easy

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: "I told you I can start looking after my arm on my own, Stark,” Bucky reminded him.“And what, duct tape it back together? I don’t think so. I can’t have you out there saving America’s youth with faulty Stark tech, it would make me look bad.”Tony settled in and started work on the arm, Bucky muttering or wincing every now and then, but for the most part, they sat in an almost companionable silence.





	Relatively Easy

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Relatively Easy by Jason Isbell!

Tony raised a hand to the doorbell just as the front door of Bucky Barnes’ small Indiana home opened, and Bucky greeted him with a raised hand and what could almost pass for a smile. His house was almost… quaint. It appeared to be from the outside, at least, with its window boxes and neatly trimmed hedges. The inside, though… It needed a little something. Some personality, maybe. Something that made it feel like a place a person lived, rather than a place someone simply _existed_. **  
**

Not that Tony noticed any of those details during his initial visits to Bucky’s house. Maybe around the fifth or sixth time he made his way out to the middle of nowhere, sure, he noticed a thing or two. He started to wonder why, if Bucky was truly starting over, he was doing so in a rural, flyover part of Indiana, isolated and alone, in a house he didn’t have any plans to decorate. Why the only guest he seemed to have was Tony Stark, or a buddy passing through. That’s how he put it, every time, and Tony couldn’t help but think that Bucky, too, appeared to be simply _passing through_. Never putting down roots, never making a home for himself. 

* * *

The first time Bucky opened the door and greeted him with a small smile and a raised hand, Tony was there to fix his arm. Bucky had found himself at the center of some altercation on his motorcycle when a piece of flaming shrapnel hit his arm, throwing everything out of whack. 

“Thought you’d never get here,” Bucky grumbled, leading Tony through the foyer and into the kitchen. “Coffee or something?” He managed to ask, though the pain from his arm is plain on his face. 

“Maybe later, let’s just get that taken care of first,” Tony said with a nod to the arm. 

Bucky nodded gratefully and walked them to the garage, where he does repairs to his bike and equipment, and where Tony most frequently worked on his arm. Sometimes the kitchen, if it was a particularly bad day, sometimes the living room, if Bucky was already set up in there working on a project of his own. But more often than not, they spent their time together in the garage, the scent of cement and oil familiar and welcome. 

“So what happened this time, Buck? You gotta stop throwing people off bridges or whatever led to this so I can spend less time flying back and forth between bumfuck and New York,” Tony says with a little smile. 

Bucky just sighed. “There was a kid, and he… I think he’s in with the wrong people, so I found them and… yeah. It went from there. I told you I can start looking after my arm on my own, Stark,” Bucky reminded him. 

“And what, duct tape it back together? I don’t think so, Barnes, I can’t have you out there saving America’s youth with faulty Stark tech, it would make me look bad.” 

Tony settled in and started work on the arm, Bucky muttering or wincing every now and then, but for the most part, they sat in an almost companionable silence. 

\--

It went on that way, Tony flying out to Indiana more than he ever would have imagined himself doing. He brought Bucky a plant on his tenth or so visit, because his barren home was getting depressing, and Tony was convinced Bucky needed at least one other living thing there with him. 

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Bucky asked, consternation in his voice and on his face.

“I don’t know, not kill it? Water it, name it, talk to it for all I care,” Tony shrugged. He gestured for Bucky to sit, and still frowning, he did as Tony suggested. 

“Can’t make any promises,” Bucky grimaced.

“Yeah, I mean look at the job you did on the arm,” Tony said, looking at him through eyes narrowed with concern. “I told you I don’t mind fixing it why did you try to—“

Bucky stopped him. “I didn’t, okay? A buddy of mine was passing through and said he could do it, figured I’d save you the trip.” 

Tony sighed heavily. “Ah the infamous Bucky Barnes _buddies_. You’ll have to introduce me to the genius who crossed these wires and then bounced before realizing you’d be in _agony_.” 

“Don’t know why you care so much,” Bucky said. “S’my arm.”

Tony gritted his teeth and doesn't respond, and Bucky seemed content enough to not push the issue further. Why he thought he should be in pain rather than tell Tony that something was definitely, seriously wrong, was beyond him, mostly because he’d thought they were past all this pretense. They sat quietly while Tony put Bucky to rights.

Bucky does not kill the plant. He doesn’t talk to it, but he also doesn’t tell Tony he named it Boris.

\--

They start talking a little more frequently. Bucky will text Tony updates before he gets them from the powers that be. When he sent picture of the little plant and how it was growing, Tony is secretly happy he’s keeping up with it, and happier still that Bucky couldn’t see how much this pleased him. 

Bucky came to New York, once, for a mission he refused to tell Tony about, and he looked so miserable about being back in the city that Tony felt like he had to do _something_ to take his mind off it, at least for a little while. He invited Bucky for dinner. Just pizza, it’s not like he cooked for him or anything, but Bucky seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Can’t get pizza like this in the sticks,” Tony pointed out, never missing out on a chance to shade Bucky’s choice to live so far out in the middle of the country. 

“Told you, Stark, I have to be there. I can’t start over somewhere where everything… ended,” Bucky explained darkly. And Tony knows what he means, of course, he just liked to egg him on a little about his choice of hometown sometimes. 

“Yeah, yeah, your redemption arc is underway, I got it.” 

Tony didn’t say that mind control isn’t something Bucky should need to redeem himself for, or that he wasn’t in his right mind when he did any of those terrible things. But Tony knows what it’s like to blame yourself for things, to feel guilt corroding everything you did. So he didn’t push, instead letting Bucky tell him whatever he wanted, small updates on missions and Boris and a neighbor he was starting to befriend. 

“He’s like seventy-five, but he’s a good guy. I cut his lawn once and we got to talking. Now I do his whenever I do mine and we talk a little. He makes good coffee. Strong, like you make. You’d like him, I think. Smart as a whip, too,” Bucky told him, almost shyly, like he can’t believe he’d been talking for so long. Tony just asked him questions and let him go on, happy that Bucky had someone, finally, who wasn’t simply using him as a stop while they were passing through.

“How’s your friend Bucky doing these days?” Happy asks as they make their way back from the hotel after dropping him off. 

Tony paused. His _friend_, Bucky. _Friend_. Hm. 

“I wouldn’t say… I mean, we’re not really friends. Just colleagues who need each other for certain things, really,” Tony said, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his jacket. 

“You go to Indiana, a place you are known to hate, by the way, a lot for a colleague. Plus, that was a long dinner, and you bought him flowers. I think that makes you friends,” Happy said patiently, like it should be obvious. And it should be, maybe, but it hadn’t occurred to Tony until it was pointed out to him, and he hated being the last to know things about himself. 

“It was a _plant_ not flowers. But yeah, okay, I guess we can be friends,” Tony nodded slowly. “Why not.”

Happy just rolled his eyes and asked if Tony had anywhere else to go before home. 

He’s still lost in thought when he mumbled out an answer. _Home’s fine, Hap._

\--

It’s a little while before Tony made his way to Indiana again. Two weeks, which is long for them, these days. He thought back to their infrequent visits and stilted conversations just months ago and it feels like a different lifetime. 

It took forever for Bucky to open the door, and when he did, his usual welcoming half-smile-half-grimace was missing, his long hair lank and falling over his unusually pale face. Tony stared at him. Bucky looked gaunt and tired, not at all like himself, and something flips in Tony’s stomach, filling him with concern. 

“Stark,” Bucky said, like he’d forgotten he’d texted Tony last night asking if he would mind coming by to look at his arm when he had a chance. 

“What happened?” Tony asked sharply.

Bucky winced and rolled his eyes. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer, and when he does, his voice told Tony everything he needed to know. 

“Think I picked up a bug or something,” Bucky said, his voice raspy and weak, and Tony nodded.

“You’re sick.”

Bucky shrugged, opened the door the rest of the way, and let Tony lead them inside the house. 

“Sit here,” Tony ordered. “Do you have any blankets in this place?” He asked.

“Uh, the one on my bed?” Bucky responded like he wasn’t quite sure it was really there, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Look, you sit here, okay? Don’t move. I’m going to run to the store and get some supplies, because you are clearly… not doing great, and then we’re going to rest for three to five days, got it? Good. Now, let’s hope I have enough service out here to _find_ a store…” Tony’s gone again before Bucky could answer, though he heard a fit of coughing follow him out the door. 

When he got back, loaded down with enough Target bags for an army, Bucky was slumped over on the couch, looking like he’d forgotten what it was like, being sick. Maybe he had. 

“Hey, tough guy, you hanging in?” Tony asked, dropping everything onto an armchair and rummaging through. He pulled out Tylenol Severe Cold and Flu and a box of tissues, and walked them over to Bucky. “Here,” he said, “This is a start. Take that and thank me later.” 

“Stark,” Bucky tried. 

“_Ah ah_, I said later,” Tony reminded him. He emptied the rest of the bags methodically: soup and tea went to the kitchen, two thick, full-sized blankets went onto the couch with Bucky, and more medicine and boxes of tissues found their way to the bathroom. It was only once everything was put away that Tony remembered.

“_Your arm_, god, I’m sorry, I’m here for one thing and got completely distracted,” Tony said. 

Bucky groaned and tried to tell Tony it was okay, but it really was killing him, it was clear from the look on his face, even past the paleness and the red, stuffy nose. 

“Why don’t you change into pajamas? You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, and then I’ll look at that.” Tony said it less like a suggestion and more like a matter of fact, and to his surprise, Bucky didn’t argue, just turned and walked upstairs, and when he came back, it was in a white tank top and blue and white striped pajama pants.

“_Cozy_,” Tony said with a smirk, because he really did look cozy, and so unlike the usually tough Bucky Barnes that Tony had come to know.

Bucky sniffled and scrubbed a rough hand over his face. “Shut it, Stark,” is all he said.

Tony studied his arm but couldn’t find anything wrong with it, in the end. “I think it must just be whatever this is, taking its toll,” Tony said. “You feel achy anywhere else?”

“Just about everywhere,” Bucky rasped.

Tony hummed. “You should lay down. Try out that blanket. I’ll make some tea, that always helps. It’s warm if nothing else.” Tony said. “Have you eaten anything? You probably should.”

He didn’t stop to wonder why it felt so natural that he would come here and play caretaker for someone who would never expect or ask him to. But he thought about Bucky, alone in his house without blankets or medicine or any human comforts at all, and knew he was in the right place. Tony resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. 

“Toast might be okay,” Bucky said as he pulled the blanket around him. Tony only nodded and went back to the kitchen for tea and toast and some serious head clearing.

Bucky woke up groggy and congested hours later, and he looked so defeated under the blankets that Tony was once again compelled to reach out and reassure him, however briefly. 

“Feeling any better?” Tony asked instead.

Bucky shivered. “Arm’s still killing me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’m freezing, even under here.” He rubs at his nose, turning to the side just in time for a sneeze to wrack his frame. 

“_Uh-TSH!_” It’s harsh and sounded like it hurt his throat, and Tony couldn’t help but wince. He passed him the box of tissues and reached over to feel his forehead. 

“You’re definitely too warm,” he told him. “You should get in the shower, run it on cool. Think you’re up to that?” Tony asked, though he knew he’d have to convince him no matter what the answer was. “Then you can take more Tylenol.”

Bucky huffed and looked at him until Tony got to his feet and held out a hand to help him up. 

“C’mon, you got this,” Tony told him quietly. He doesn’t miss the way Bucky leaned into the touch, and how he took a beat longer than necessary before he let go of Tony’s arm. Tony guided him to the bathroom, where he ran the water to a temperature that wouldn’t leave Bucky freezing, but would be cool enough to help with the fever. 

They realized at once that this should be weird. That maybe Tony shouldn’t be in the bathroom with Bucky as he showered, that maybe Bucky should be embarrassed to be seen in such a state, but neither of them registered anything other than a sense of contentment, of rightness, somehow. 

When Tony reached out and finally placed a reassuring hand on Bucky’s arm, letting him know he’d be right outside when he was done, Bucky stopped. 

“Tony,” he said. Just like that. Just his name; his _first_ name, not the usual Stark, uttered while he stood shirtless and sick and shivering in his undecorated bathroom, and Tony froze. They stood that way for a few seconds and Bucky seemed to come to his senses. “Just. Thank you.”

He got in the shower and Tony retreated to the hallway, his heart beating a staccato rhythm against his ribs, and _oh, fuck,_ echoing over and over in his head.

When Bucky rejoined him, he dropped himself next to Tony on the couch, and didn’t argue when Tony suggested more medicine for the fever and congestion. 

“Should help how achy you are, too,” Tony added. 

Bucky swallowed it down, making a face, and leaned his head back to rest, just for a minute, on Tony’s shoulder. Time seemed to stop, for both of them, and neither wanted to move to question it, but before Tony could somehow manage to convey that he didn’t mind, Bucky picked his head up and sighed. Not long after, between the medicine and the pain and the fever, he fell asleep, leaving Tony to wonder what, exactly, he was supposed to do now. 

\--

What Tony did was help Bucky through the worst of his illness, bringing him tea and medicine, and sitting around with him while they watched bad TV for hours on end. Tony rubbed Bucky’s shoulders when he coughed so hard his whole body shook with it. He drank a lot of coffee, and pretended he didn’t see the thoughtful, confused expression that crossed Bucky’s face every time their hands brushed when Tony passed him a mug or the remote. 

He waited until Bucky could breathe through his nose normally, and kept his fever down. Tony waited until Bucky was asleep one morning, and crept out of the cozy Indiana house he’d come to think of as his part-time home, away from the guy who deserved so much more, so much better than Tony Stark leaving without a word because he realized that, somewhere along the line, they weren’t friends, not really, because Tony had gone and fallen in love with him. 

He knew it was terrible, leaving like that, and his stomach twisted at the look he knew Bucky would get when he realized, but how could he tell him? Now, Tony was no better than any of the other dozens of people who were _passing through the life of Bucky Barnes_. He felt sick, and not like the bug he’d just helped Bucky through, but sick deep down somewhere he couldn’t reach. Heartsick, maybe, but that felt melodramatic in a way Tony was not. 

Burying himself in work helped a little, but the days passed slowly, and his phone stayed quiet. No more updates on Larry, Bucky’s neighbor turned friend, no more photos of Boris. Tony was no better though, he stayed quiet, too. But he would wake up every now and then, wondering how Bucky was, if his arm was okay, and he would cringe to think of Bucky taking a screwdriver to it, or worse, letting some jackass friend of his at it with a wrench. 

The weeks pass and turn into a month and Tony still couldn’t shake that sick feeling. It wasn’t until Happy came striding in one day and asked why Tony hasn’t taken any trips to Indiana recently that Tony realized what he had to do. He had to go back, of course he did. He had to show up, and hope that Bucky wouldn’t slam the door in his face, which he would have every right to do. 

“It was just a question, boss, sorry,” Happy says at the expression that made its way to Tony’s face. 

“No, no, it’s me, I should… I need to go, Hap. Think you can drive me to the airport in about a half hour?” Happy is glad to oblige, though Tony could have done without the knowing little smirk that Happy shot his way. 

Four hours later, Tony is walking up the familiar path to Bucky’s house, taking a shaky breath as he rings the doorbell. One long minute later, Bucky’s there, right in front of him, with a small, white kitten tucked into the crook of his arm. He fixes Tony with a hard look, but he doesn’t close the door, just turns and Tony follows, shutting the door behind them. 

It was a start, right?

Bucky stops in the living room, and they stand there, three feet apart, in silence. Bucky strokes the cat under its chin and it’s all Tony can do not to cross the remaining feet between them and do the same to Bucky. Pull him into his lap and tell him he’s sorry and maybe that he loves him and that it _terrifies_ him. 

“Bucky…” He says, because he has to say something, doesn’t he?

“It’s _Bucky_ now, is it?” And Tony flinches but he gets it. 

He doesn’t push the issue. Instead, he gestures to the cat. “Is that my replacement?”

Bucky sighs and stares at him some more, unsure how to respond. He looks so sad and alone, even with the cat tucked up in his metal arm, in a way that even months ago, Tony knows Bucky never would have trusted himself to do. 

“You’re the one who left without a word and never came back.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m back now, if that counts for anything,” Tony says.

Bucky just shrugs. “This is Alpine. Larry asked me for some help with these kittens he found in his yard and she was the runt, apparently. They didn’t seem to want her and I figured, I’m here, so…” 

_He’s here, so. _

Tony turns the words over in his mind, knows that the cat adopted Bucky as much as Bucky had adopted her. Tony takes in Alpine the cat, and Boris the Pothos plant, and thinks about Larry the neighbor friend, and realizes that while they were doing this… whatever they’ve been doing for a year now, Bucky _had_ made himself a home. He was doing better now. And maybe Tony should have stayed away, let him find happiness in his own way. _Maybe all of this is selfish._

“She’s cute,” Tony says. “She fits you, somehow.”

Bucky shrugs again and sits on the couch, gesturing for Tony to do the same. “I’m the runt, you mean?” He asks, but somehow, Tony knows he’s kidding, and thinks that they might just be okay after all. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Thought I did,” he says in a way that makes Tony wonder if it’s possible to feel your heart physically break. 

“Bucky. Look at me, okay? I’m sorry. I got … scared I guess. I didn’t want to push you into anything, and I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, but I knew I had to come back. Can we start there? I’m here now.”

Alpine leaps gracefully out of Bucky’s arms and pads over to Tony, giving him a sniff and watchful eye before going back up to Bucky, tucking herself against his shoulder. It’s unfairly cute, given their situation.

“I think she just likes it because it’s warm,” Bucky says, pointing to his arm, and it makes sense. It _is_ solid and warm and perfect for curling up into. Not that Tony had had the pleasure just yet, but still. He’d been around long enough to know that Bucky was soft and warm the same way, once you got to know him. 

“She loves you,” Tony says, speaking for the cat, and himself, and wondering if he’d ever be able to do more than this. If Bucky would ever even _want that._

Bucky’s face softens and his eyes find Tony’s. “You think?”

“I’m sure of it,” Tony says quietly, moving over to the two of them on the couch until their shoulders were pressed together, and Tony could feel Alpine purring happily from her perch on Bucky. 

They stay like that for a while, until Bucky shifts and rubs at his shoulder, and Tony thinks to ask. 

“Does your arm feel okay? It’s been a while since…” He trails off.

“I’ve left it alone, but it’s been sore lately, yeah,” Bucky says. They make their way to the garage again, Bucky leading the way and Alpine between them, padding along. Tony takes his time with it, taking extra care to be as gentle as he can, as the cat watches from the top of a box of tools. 

“You found yourself a fierce little protector,” Tony says, smiling and nodding to the kitten. 

“Hm. Think I already had that, but it’s nice to have two.”

That night, when it got dark and neither of them could deny how tired they were anymore, he’d let Bucky take his hand, fumbling at little by his wrist, and lead him to the bedroom. They don’t talk about it, and it’s new, but not weird, not at all. Tony sleeps in Bucky’s bed with him, Alpine wedged between them, purring away, and he finds out that Bucky’s arm is just as nice to be held by as he’d imagined. He drifts to sleep thinking that the Midwest might not be the worst place to start over after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! @omg_just_peachy


End file.
